


How the Ghosts Stole Christmas

by lyryk (s_k)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: AU Post-CotBP, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-25
Updated: 2009-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 12:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2025633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commodore Norrington and Captain Sparrow happen to come across a ship that may or may not be haunted. Inspired by the X Files episode of the same title, from which many of the plot details have shamelessly been stolen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How the Ghosts Stole Christmas

‘What do you make of her, then?’ Jack Sparrow said from beside me. The ship in front of the _Dauntless_ was quite a sight: she was a dark, mahogany brown, and carried no flags. Gold lettering across her bow pronounced her name the _Persephone_ , and her hull bucked gently against the water. There appeared to be not a soul on board; in fact, it was due to the rumours that she was a ghost ship that we were there at all. It was Christmas Eve and my ship was quite drastically understaffed, but the lure of a legendary ship had been too much of a temptation for me to resist.

‘I’d say she warrants a closer look,’ I said, glancing sideways at the former pirate captain. Several months after his fall from the parapet of Fort Charles, Sparrow was in possession of a privateer’s commission, and had proved himself a surprisingly amiable and useful informant. My initial wariness of him had evolved into a guardedness that was steadily diminishing with time. 

‘Excellent!’ he beamed. ‘What’re we waiting for, then?’

‘We?’ I frowned. ‘My intention was to board the _Persephone_ with my officers.’

He grinned. ‘You don’t seriously believe I’m going to be left behind, do you? Also, between you and me—’ he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and leaned in close to me ‘—I think the good Navy’s lieutenants mayn’t exactly be trained to handle ghosties and beasties, if you know what I mean.’

‘But you think the good Navy’s Commodore is?’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘I’m flattered.’

‘Oh, I believe you can handle the nasties, and then some,’ he grinned. ‘So, are you coming, or what?’

*

In the end, I had to agree that Sparrow would be more useful on a purportedly haunted ship than any of my crew. A year ago I would have said that the very idea of a haunted ship was ludicrous, but battling undead pirates has a singular way of unsettling one’s worldview. The sea was fairly turbulent and setting up a gangplank between the _Dauntless_ and the strange, silent ship had proved impossible. Sparrow and I discarded our hats and coats, and used ropes to swing across to the deck of the abandoned ship.

The moment my feet touched the deck, I knew without a doubt that the ship was indeed lifeless, and indeterminably old. The ancient wood creaked under my boots with every step, and a heavy silence hung over the ship, as if no human voice had sounded on the ship for an eternity. The indescribably strange atmosphere also had the curious effect of cloaking the ship from the world around it. When I looked back over my shoulder at the _Dauntless_ , she seemed rather distant, although only a few metres separated the hulls of the two ships. Even the winter sun is fairly bright in the Caribbean, but the _Persephone_ seemed to cast such a gloom about everything that the sky seemed grey; I wondered if it was merely a trick played by my imagination, or if the sky had indeed suddenly become overcast.

‘I don’t like this,’ Sparrow murmured from beside me. ‘She’s no breath in her at all.’

I knew instantly what he meant. It was unusual for a ship to be completely lifeless, even when crewless. Ships have their own peculiar music: the fluttering of sails welcoming the wind, the thrumming of the hull as it engages with the ocean. On the _Persephone_ , it seemed as if every sound was swallowed by a vast nothingness even before it could become audible. When I touched the railing, nothing but a hollow emptiness met my fingertips.

Despite our shared disconcertedness, Sparrow seemed to regain his good humour remarkably quickly. ‘Maybe she’s scared of your wig,’ he grinned as we made our way to the bow. When I did not deign to reply he added, ‘Must you wear that thing all the time?’

‘It’s part of my uniform,’ I said absently as I tried the door to the captain’s cabin. It seemed locked, although perhaps it was merely jammed because of disuse. 

‘That’s why I’d never wear one of those things,’ Sparrow called over his shoulder from the helm. ‘Looks as if the rudder’s damaged,’ he added.

‘Sparrow, surely you realise your outfit, extraordinary though it may be, is just as much a uniform as is mine,’ I said with some amusement as I joined him at the wheel. ‘Interesting that sightings of this ship have been reported all along the coast, even as far as Morant Bay, when it appears that there is no way to steer her.’

‘Indeed it is,’ he said in an imitation of my accent, flashing me a glittering grin. ‘And what do you mean by calling my very fine apparel a uniform? No offence, mate, but my outfit is a darn sight prettier than yours, even if you do look rather dashing in that Navy coat.’

‘I call it a uniform because every trinket on your person is evidently chosen with great care and deliberation, even if the overall appearance is rather vagrant. What you wear is a carefully constructed identity, just as my uniform is mine.’

‘You think so, do you?’ he said with great enjoyment, an arm draped over the wheel in a manner that was at once insolent and elegant. ‘Is that all there is to you then? A Commodore’s uniform and identity? Or is there a James beneath those clothes?’

The immediate response that rose up in my throat was to say that I would never care to discuss what was beneath my clothes, and certainly not with him, but something guileless and alluring in his eyes made me change my tack. ‘I would ask you if there were a Jack beneath your clothes, but this is hardly the place for such a discussion,’ I said lightly, and he chuckled approvingly. 

We could probably have forced open the door to the great cabin using our combined efforts, but I had no desire to vandalise a ship for no reason. Surprisingly, Sparrow seemed to feel the same way, and we agreed to explore what was below deck before resorting to any means of force. He whistled with surprise as we descended the stairway together, and I did not have to inquire as to the reason, for there were lamps along the passageway that held gently flickering flames. There was no evidence as to who had lit them, for the interior of the ship was as silent as her deck, and perhaps even more so. We took a torch each from the wall, and continued along the passage until it forked in separate directions. 

‘I suppose it would save time if we split up,’ I suggested.

‘Agreed.’ He nodded, the charms in his hair clinking softly. ‘Watch your step, Commodore. You’ve heard the stories, I presume?’

‘What stories are those?’ I peered into the darkness ahead of me, but could barely see any detail, barring shadows; the passages Sparrow and I were about to enter were almost completely devoid of light.

‘Oh, you know. That the _Persephone_ only makes an appearance on Christmas Eve because years ago’—he lowered his voice, as if relating a captivating tale to a child—‘a pair of lovers died on this ship the night before Christmas, and any lovers who find themselves on board the ship will inevitably meet the same fate. Swallowed up by the ship’s sorrow, and never see the light of day again.’

‘It’s a good thing we aren’t lovers, then,’ I said dryly, setting off down the passage on the left.

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ he called over his shoulder, already swallowed up by the darkness.

‘I’ll keep your words in mind,’ I called back absently.

‘Sceptic,’ he laughed, and then there was no sound but that of his retreating footsteps, which were soon lost in the vast silence of the ship’s inside, the quietness even more pronounced beneath her deck.

Unlike the main passage that we had come through, the one I had taken had doors on either side. Each was covered with intricate carvings, and inlaid with gold paint. The glittering gold knobs on each door would not turn very far, indicating that they were all locked. The fifth door I came to was somewhat different from the others: larger and even more richly ornate. This time the handle turned easily, and I took a deep breath and entered.

I was in a commodious room with a fireplace, lined with bookshelves along almost every wall. It was thickly carpeted, and contained several overstuffed armchairs and sofas: apparently a reading room. 

However, it was not the books or the fireplace that immediately caught my attention. In the centre of the room, the carpet had been torn aside, and the floorboards beneath wrenched up to reveal a hidden cavity. As I drew closer, irresistibly drawn to the spectacle, my blood ran cold. 

There were two corpses lying together in the hollow, wrapped in each other’s arms. Their flesh had long since withered away, but their bones were intact. Tattered clothes hung from their skeletons. The taller of the two wore a coat with faded brocade, that might at one time have been blue, and the other corpse, curled almost contentedly into his companion’s arms, had a scrap of cloth around his skull that looked vaguely red. The two were unmistakably meant to be—

‘Us,’ Sparrow’s voice said from behind me. ‘Sweet saints, that’s _us_.’

‘Jesus Christ, Sparrow!’ I cried. ‘Don’t ever sneak up behind me like that!’

‘It’s true, then,’ he said faintly, gazing at the bodies in enraptured horror. ‘The ship is cursed. We’re meant to die here.’

‘Snap out of it, Sparrow. No one’s going to die,’ I said firmly, getting to my feet.

‘You think so?’ He turned to me, his eyes wide and darker than ever. ‘Then how do you explain _them_?’ His agitated hands gestured toward the bodies.

‘There has to be an explanation for this,’ I insisted. Although I could not begin to imagine how the mystery could possibly be resolved, I was intent on calming my companion first; he seemed dangerously close to hysteria.

‘There’s only one explanation,’ he said, his voice suddenly calm. His hand slipped into his waistcoat and withdrew with a pearl-handled pistol.

‘Be careful where you point that.’ I tried not to get alarmed, but there was a wildness in his eyes that was decidedly unsettling.

‘I’m sorry, James,’ he said sorrowfully, ‘but this is the way it has to be.’ His hand was quite steady.

‘Sparrow, you’re letting this ship get to you. Put that away.’

‘Captain,’ he snapped. ‘It’s Captain, or Jack. How – many – bloody – times do I have to tell you?’ Before I could respond, he had squeezed the trigger.

*

As every soldier knows, a gunshot wound to the stomach is one of the slowest and most painful ways to die. The shock of the bullet entering my body had made me black out, and when I came to I was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. There was no sign of Sparrow; he must have bolted. The pistol he had used lay on the floor, beside the wig that had been knocked off my head during my fall.

I managed to pull myself to a sitting position, propping myself up against one of the armchairs. I clasped a hand over the wound, but could do little to stem the trickling of blood. Blackness flickered behind my eyes, threatening to engulf me. I wondered idly why he had left the weapon behind. Had he thrown it aside in horror at what he had done, or had he left it there as a merciful gesture, for me to put myself out of my misery?

In a sudden flash of understanding, I realised what must have happened. Sparrow had been on the ship before, and set up the corpses for me to find. It had all been a plan: a deliberate, cold-blooded plan intended to result in my murder. Something about the entire set-up, however, didn’t seem quite plausible. If he had wanted to kill me, why had he gone to such trouble to create an elaborate charade? A simple bullet through my head would have done the needful. 

Damn him. I could not just lie there and die. I would find him first, and make him pay. It also occurred to me that if I could just get to the deck, I might be able to attract the attention of someone on the _Dauntless_. I knew there was little hope that I could recover from the almost certainly fatal injury, but I had to attempt to fight my fate. 

Gripping his discarded pistol in my hand was a little heartening as I pulled myself to my feet, holding on to the chair with my other hand. Using the furniture for support, I was able to stagger to the door and pull it open. I stepped into the corridor and stumbled forward blindly in the dark, hoping fervently that I was moving in the right direction. No sooner had I reached the fork in the passageway than I saw him coming toward me. He was clutching his side as well, and leaning heavily against the wall, just as I was.

‘Don’t come any closer, or I’ll fire,’ I warned, gasping with pain and leaning back against the wall. I managed to lift the pistol and point it in his general direction.

‘Not if I stab you first,’ he said dazedly, and I saw that he was holding a small knife in the hand that was not pressed against his side. Then he pitched forward face-first, and it was not until he hit the floor with a splash that I realised that the ship was taking on water.

Unable to hold myself up anymore, I fell to my knees beside him. I grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him over on to his back. I could not let the man drown, even if he _had_ shot me mercilessly. He groaned in pain and tried to roll away from me, and I saw that his shirt was soaked in blood. The knife in his hand looked exactly like the dirk I wore hidden in my left boot.

I slumped back against the wall, conscious that the water was steadily rising around us. ‘Where did you get my knife?’

He laughed mirthlessly, the sound echoing ominously in the corridor before turning into a cough.

‘What’s funny?’ I frowned. ‘And what happened to you? Did you decide to kill yourself after you shot me?’

‘You’ve got it the wrong way round, mate. You stabbed me in that horrible library-place with the bodies in the floor, and then you made away with my gun.’ He cracked an eye open to glance at my bloodied shirt. ‘That keen to fulfil the murder-suicide pact, were you?’

‘What pact?’ I pressed myself back against the wall as the ship tilted a little, and Sparrow pulled himself further up against the wall as the water rose on his side of the corridor.

‘The story. The doomed lovers. One of them killed the other, and then she killed herself. It was a murder-suicide.’

‘Was it?’ 

‘You should know, you daft Navy man,’ he snapped. ‘You let yourself get brainwashed by this bloody ship, and you got us both killed.’

‘It was you who—’ I began impatiently, and then stopped. A thought had just struck me: it had been a fair amount of time since I had been shot, but I was still alive. In fact, damnably painful though my wound was, I was not feeling any worse than I had when I’d been shot.

‘Things aren’t what they seem to be,’ I said aloud.

‘What the fuck are you on about?’ Sparrow murmured, his eyes closed. ‘Isn’t it enough that you knifed me in the gut? You want to talk me to death now?’

‘Sparrow, listen to me. I think you were right. This damned ship’s playing tricks on us. Sparrow?’

He didn’t answer. The water was up to my chest now, and deeper on his side of the floor; even as I watched, his head slipped beneath the dark water. I threw myself across the corridor and grabbed his shirt, pulling him out of the water.

‘Sparrow, come on, get on your feet! You’re not hurt.’ The water was beginning to rush now. I pushed him back against the wall to steady him against it, and tore his shirt open. ‘Look! There’s no wound there. You aren’t hurt.’

‘Neither are you,’ he said, looking at my shirt. It was back to its original white, with not a trace of the blood that I had tried to stem with my hands. 

The water rose higher, almost lifting Sparrow off his feet, and I grabbed his arms to steady him. ‘We could still die here, if the ship sucks us down with her,’ I reminded him. ‘Come on.’

I kept an arm around him as we began wading toward the stairs, afraid that the force of the water would sweep him away. The water was faster than us, though. Before we could reach the end of the passage, we were both forced to start swimming against the rushing current. Rather than swimming out, we were all but thrown out on the deck by the rushing water. 

I spared a last, longing glance for the locked door to the great cabin. ‘Do you think we should try to open the door?’ I shouted over the roar of the water pouring into the great ship. 

‘Don’t be daft, James,’ he said in a tone that was clearly meant to be reasonable. ‘Another minute and she’s going down. Let her take her secrets with her.’

‘Since when are we on a first-name basis?’ I asked as we made our way to the stern of the ship, now almost at the level of the ocean.

‘Since we almost died together on this monstrosity?’ he grinned, and stepped easily off the sinking ship into the sea. 

It was only when I had slid into the water beside him that I realised that the sky was almost completely dark; we must have been on board the _Persephone_ for far longer than I had imagined. The _Dauntless_ was a dark outline several metres away from us, and the moonless sky glowed faintly with the light of a million stars. The water was bitterly cold, and we began to swim toward my ship without a word. 

When we reached the _Dauntless_ I could hear shouts from the deck; the crew had clearly noticed the ghost ship sinking, and could not discern if we were safe. We clung to the rigging and watched as the bow of the great ship rose high into the air before she slid forward noiselessly into the ocean. After a moment, there was not even a ripple to mark the spot where she had sunk.

The death of a ship can never be a happy occasion, and at that moment, I could not even feel relief at our narrow escape. As if sensing my melancholy, Sparrow said quietly, ‘She was dead already.’ Then he threw me one of his sudden, careless grins. ‘Besides, I’ve no doubt she’ll be back next Christmas.’

‘Jack, we just saw her sink,’ I protested. ‘She couldn’t possibly—’ Before I could finish my sentence, he had cupped my face in his hands and captured my mouth with his, hooking a wiry leg around my waist to keep his balance.

‘What was that for?’ I asked, slightly dazed, as we broke apart for a moment.

Jack rolled his eyes, winding his arms around my neck. ‘That ship was clearly trying to tell us something, luv. Have a little faith, will you? It’s bloody Christmas.’ His face nuzzled against mine. ‘Forgive your enemy, and all that,’ he murmured.

‘I could live with that,’ I whispered back. Holding on to the rigging of the _Dauntless_ with one hand, I wrapped my other arm around him as our lips met again, and everything receded into oblivion but Jack.


End file.
